People Once Forgotten
by history101
Summary: A one-shot set after 'Ashes to Ashes.' After casting off his daughter's ashes, LaCroix sits alone in the Raven without opening the bar to the public, and is visited by his son. NOT slash. FYI, as a lowly fanfiction author, I don't own any rights to the show!


A.N. This is sort of a follow up to my other one-shot 'Things Once Forgotten', but can be read by itself.

* * *

As I drove through the darkened Toronto streets I listened to LaCroix in his guise as the 'Night-crawler', but he sounded more disheartened than I could ever remember him doing so before, even in all the years I'd known him. Where was the usual standoffish, supercilious attitude? Where was the overwhelming confidence? LaCroix sounded like a beaten man. But, I supposed that having a monstrous killer for a daughter and then almost being killed by said daughter would have an effect on a person, even someone as strong as LaCroix.

It was only four hours ago that I'd left LaCroix to burn the body of his daughter alone in the scrap yard, and it was well past midnight. Part of me had wanted to remain with him, but it was a moment which I felt I would be intruding on his grief. He'd never been one to show much emotion, and I felt that by staying with him, he would think I saw him as weak...however it was quite the opposite.

Divia had been everything I had once seen her father as; incredibly powerful, unemotional, unfeeling and cruel, but she was in a class of her own. If she was an evil that even LaCroix 'couldn't bear to look on', then it was an evil that the world was certainly better off without. That didn't mean, though, that as a father, he wouldn't mourn his child's death.

As I heard his voice finish the broadcast I switched off the radio and decided to throw caution to the wind. I sharply turned a corner and made my way to the Raven, and when I got there all was quiet; far too quiet for a popular nightclub at this time even after the whole scare that Divia had given people.

But the doors were shut and there was no one standing outside. The Raven was closed; how unusual.

Leaving my car, I opened the door with my key and locked it again behind me as I turned into the dark room, which was, as the saying goes, as silent as the grave with only the rhythmic breathing of the man sat alone at the bar.

"Are the general populous not welcome tonight?" I asked in an attempt to lighten the sombre atmosphere which clung to the air and showed no signs of dissipating.

"No," LaCroix answered me in a tone of voice I knew all too well. He was not in a mood that would tolerate humour, or sarcasm or insult or folly, he would just about tolerate being spoken to in a calm, emotionless manner in monosyllables...if I was lucky.

"That doesn't include me, does it?" I asked rhetorically as I walked across to join him at the bar. I saw that he had an open bottle of 'finest vintage' and a glass clutched in his hand.

"I suppose not, Nicholas," he said to me after a second and poured me a glass. Usually I would refuse it outright, but after the considerable damage done by Divia and the fact that it was a grieving LaCroix offering it to me, it felt foolish and insulting to do so. I slid the glass closer to me as I took the seat beside him, he didn't even look surprised at my actions; perhaps he just wasn't taking any notice.

The vampire in me wanted this blood, it was weak and injured and it still needed sustenance; animal blood could only heal so much, and I had almost been killed. I took a drink from the glass and I could hear Nat's voice, screaming at me in my head that I was undoing all of my long work in one night, but to be honest I didn't think I was any closer to being human than I had been before I started looking.

Janette had become human simply through loving a mortal and drinking his blood, perhaps I couldn't do the same simply by abstaining completely from human blood just to make a point. Since she had died – as a mortal – and since I had become closer to LaCroix, I found myself caring less about becoming mortal myself. Maybe part of me didn't want to leave my father / master even more alone than he already was; his vampire daughter was dead, his mortal daughter had been a monster and was gone for good, Urs and Vachon were now gone, and if I chose to go, who was he left with? I know he was more than able to cope with loss, but part of me didn't want to leave his side; he was after all, my father.

"You thought I was dead…didn't you?" I asked slowly. For Divia to truly gloat she would surely have told him of her victory over me; I wondered how she'd told him. Had she gloated? And what had he said in return?

"Of course not," he replied after a while, still avoiding eye contact, which was most unusual for the man.

"Of course not," I repeated.

"How did you..." he trailed off.

"Just lucky, I guess," I answered, absentmindedly touching my face where Divia had clawed at my skin. I was still battered and bruised and I felt like I could sleep for a week.

The adrenaline had long since worn off, after I'd woken in my loft I'd been frantic for LaCroix's safety, and I'd forced myself to move, to creep silently as I saw Divia make to kill him, and to force the stake through her black heart. But now it was gone I'd been lucky not to fall asleep at the wheel to be honest.

Divia had been perhaps one of, if not the physically strongest vampire I'd ever met before, but still, she'd been brought down by a stake to the heart. I had wondered for a while, if LaCroix would hold it against me that I'd murdered his daughter in front of him, and then dared to 'order' him to let her die alone on the ground, but I'd seen no evidence of it. Yes, I'd seen grief for his lost child, but surely it was hypocritical of him to call her a monster when he too was guilty of terrible things.

But if he too was a monster, why then was he in mourning? He was simply a father grieving for the loss of his child, not a vampire mourning for his master; the vampire in us did not overrule everything.

Perhaps this was worse because he had already lost one daughter already; our beautiful Janette was gone. No matter how many times I said it, it still didn't seem real - she was gone forever. I would never see her smile again, I would never hear her laugh or say my name or feel her kiss or her soft touch ever again.

"Then for once, I am indebted to chance," he said and I blinked slightly, but I said nothing. "She was confident that she had killed you," he added, "She of course recognised at once that you were 'family', perhaps it was foolish of me to underestimate her abilities."

"Did you?" I asked him; to me it didn't seem like he'd underestimated her, or even feared her...feared his guilt perhaps.

He didn't answer me; he didn't even look at me as he poured another generous glass of 'vintage'. "Why didn't you fight back?" I asked, in cases like this it was best to at least talk to him, even if he didn't plan on talking back.

"Don't you think if I could have I would?" he replied tersely. "She was taught by an Ancient One; what one learns one's self, even after so long, can hardly compare to that," he added and I simply nodded. "…Also…a father could hardly fight his child with the intent to kill...is what I should say...however..." he shrugged, "I killed her once," he added after a while, still avoiding eye contact, which was most unusual for the man.

"And you were justified," I said slowly.

"No, I wasn't," he told me, "You weren't there all those years ago, you didn't see the city fall…she spared me that fate."

"That doesn't mean she was right."

"Hmm, I don't seem to have much luck with my children, do I, Nicholas?" he scoffed, "Present company – at the moment – excluded, of course," he added with a weak smile.

"Don't worry," I smiled back, "I expect we'll be at each other's throats soon enough."

"Literally, of course," he suggested predictably.

"Of course," I nodded.

"Well, when you put it that way…" LaCroix replied and held up his glass as we, once again, lapsed into silence.

I remained in the dark, empty club longer than I'd expected, so when I stood to leave I sensed that it was already gone dawn, and I was not unpleasantly surprised when LaCroix more or less ordered me to pass the day here as he lead me deeper into the building. As I walked through the rooms I saw the painting I'd given LaCroix of mid 17th century London hanging close to the old canvas of Janette. He said nothing as I stared at her likeness, but I quickly tore my eyes away from it to follow him through the corridor to a spare room.

It seemed quite strange to me how well I actually slept that morning; usually I was haunted by the past but I didn't even recall a single bad memory hindering my sleep this time.

Hours later, I woke just before dawn and I left the second the sun sank below the horizon before LaCroix had even risen from his sleep; I had to get to work.


End file.
